(This meaningful day to me, the 9th of October. So many things connected to it. Today is Polly Jean Harvey's birthday, who's been such a companion through my darkest years, and who still does projects meeting my view, in a way or another. Also, today is my blog's birthday: 8 years. Less and less i'm writing here, despite my desire and despite how often i do it in my mind. I remember when, once upon a time, i was used to drop here my confusion and my crisis, my tales about just a one-day-trip somewhere near by. Now i can cross Oceans and i hardly mention it here (nor much on other social networks, actually). The way i tell about my life changed, i'm even more open now than during my early 20s, but my life is so full that i'd need a parallel life just to tell about my life. It is like hardly find the time to do back-ups because you're always up to create. (What? Oh, yes, i totally need to make my back-ups more regular, that's extremely right.) One thing, one important thing before to go in the shower and leave my nest on Buda, to celebrate another nest in Pest: storytelling is not anymore an obsession, already since 2012. There's still the pleasure of doing it, the awareness of its importance, yet now i'm free by the desperate need. I remember how i was used to think about the border between living and telling, and i remember that for me before living was a source of tales, and i was feeling all fucked up regarding this. There was a filter, i was always living life through a camera, a mind camera or a real one. Now i'm in the moment, i'm in the here and now, and that's basically why i sketch less around and that's why i write here less. Plus, because i focus my energies on some other projects that often require longer time to get realized. I'm just sorry that i update about them more on micro-blogging platforms such as, guess, facebook, or twitter, or instagram (the links are there because so you follow me, yes, hahaha), while i would have loved to keep updating my blog as a continuous archive of my path. But this doesn't seem possible, posting on just two social networks takes me already too much. But i'm so glad this blog is always here anyway, ready to welcome other flows. There's much i'd like to tell here, stuff i don't say much elsewhere, perhaps, but i don't blame myself for not doing yet much: maybe i'm not doing it yet because i'll re-elaborate these thoughts in art projects instead of blog posts. And, after all, doesn't sound bad, right? Still, thanks Eta dorme sui pesci volanti, for being here. I remember when i was about to delete you, and some-ones asked me to keep it.
PS. Well, the better organized archive, now, is supposed to be my website. And i love that very much! Still i need to update it again, though!
PPS. I see there's a way not to counterpose living and telling life, as telling is living too – to hold this concept, i think of storytelling around the fire and how that's essential. It can seem different when, in order to tell, you have a screen on the way, or paperwork to solve. But that's like taking care of your house. We can enjoy all these practical things.
Before enlightenment, chop the wood, carry the water.
After enlightenment, chop the wood, carry the water.)